


Milkshakes and Murder

by QuirkyBrunettes



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: AU, F/M, Future, Is that ketchup or blood?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-25 22:37:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12542780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuirkyBrunettes/pseuds/QuirkyBrunettes
Summary: He doesn't know why he goes into that cliche diner everyday with the cherry red booths and the waitress who always forgets to take the pickles off his burger.  He's seen beauty before, gorged on it until it killed him and stole everything he loved.  But she's different, free from the murder and death that cling to him.That's before the gun goes off.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Possible new story! Takes place about ten years after the series finale. This is just a excerpt from the first chapter. I have been experiencing terrible writer's block for the last few months where everything I type meets its final demise at the hands of my delete button. Let me know if it's worth continuing as something fun and not super canon. :)
> 
> Richie X OC  
> SethKate

Out of all the days for the air conditioning in her car to go out, Elle resents the fact that she’s sitting in a metal heater in the beginning of a Texan summer. The leather steering wheel of her junky car is hot from the constant sun and she’s debating if she even wants to go into work today. But it's Thursday, and she never misses a Thursday. Elle peeled her hair from her neck, and jumped out of her car.

  
She closed the door with more force than necessary. “Get a job to put yourself through college, Elle,” she muttered to herself. Her angry walk kicked the dirt up. “It’s not like you’ll be stuck in the middle of nowhere with no air conditioning and a maxed out credit card.”

  
A little bell on the door rang out when she entered, and Elle immediately thanked the wheezy air conditioner that blew a cold, if stale, gust of wind into her face. She smiled widely at the teenager working the hostess desk and made her way to the kitchen. It smelled like greasy food and lemon disinfectant. Elle’s nosed wrinkled in disgust, and she tied her apron around her waist.

  
The chef, Kenny, was a middle-aged man with a persistent five o’clock shadow and a growing beer belly. He grinned at her, waving the spatula in greeting. “How’s your day going, Ella?”

  
She rolled her eyes in friendly annoyance, not bothering to correct him after eight months when Elle learned he only did it to tease her. Elle hopped on the counter and grabbed an onion ring, avoiding Kenny’s smack. “My day,” she talked around a mouthful of food. “I’ve been driving around in an Easy Bake Oven all day and my official diet consists of coffee and ramen.”

  
“I’ll make you a salad at the your lunch break. My two year old eats more greens than you.”

  
Elle punched his shoulder friendly, “You’re the best Kenny.”

  
Janet, Elle’s friend and fellow waitress, peeped her head into the kitchen and spoke in a heavy Southern accent. “Girl, your admirer is back.”

  
The tips of ears went bright red. “He’s not my admirer.”

  
“Oh please,” Janet rolled her eyes in that dramatic way that would look comical on anyone else. “Blue Eyes comes in here every Thursday, sits in the same spot in your section, and looks way too interested as your read off the daily pie specials.”

  
Kenny added, “Plus, he gives you a huge tip and you’re not that good of a waitress.”

  
“Hey!” Elle hopped off the counter, standing to her full height and feigning indignation. “I am a wonderful waitress. I always refill coffees very promptly and I always cut extra large slices of pie for the kids.”

  
“You constantly mix up orders and doodle on checks,” Janet pointed out.

  
“You can all suck it,” Elle announced, waving her middle finger high in the air as she kicked the door open to the dining area. She wasn’t really angry, and even if she denied it, a part of her lit up at their words when she saw him sitting in his usual booth.


	2. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the full first chapter with the introduction of one notorious, myopic character. Enjoy!

Out of all the days for the air conditioning in her car to go out, Elle resented the fact that she’s sitting in a metal heater in the beginning of a Texan summer. The leather steering wheel of her junky car is hot from the constant sun and she’s debating if she even wants to go into work today. But it's Thursday, and she never misses a Thursday. Elle peeled her hair from her neck, and jumped out of her car.

She closed the door with more force than necessary. “Get a job to put yourself through college, Elle,” she muttered to herself. Her angry walk kicked the dirt up. “It’s not like you’ll be stuck in the middle of _nowhere_ with no air conditioning and a maxed out credit card.”

A little bell on the door rang out when she entered, and Elle immediately thanked the wheezy air conditioner that blew a cold, if stale, gust of wind into her face. She smiled widely at the teenager at the hostess desk and made her way to the kitchen. It smelled like greasy food and lemon disinfectant. Elle’s nosed wrinkled in disgust, and she tied her apron around her waist.

The chef, Kenny, was a middle-aged man with a persistent five o’clock shadow and a growing beer belly. He grinned at her, waving the spatula in greeting. “How’s your day going, Ella?”

She rolled her eyes in friendly annoyance, not bothering to correct him after eight months when Elle learned he only did it to tease her. Elle hopped on the counter and grabbed an onion ring, avoiding Kenny’s smack. “My day,” she talked around a mouthful of food. “I’ve been driving around in an Easy Bake Oven all day and my official diet consists of coffee and ramen.”

“I’ll make you a salad at the your lunch break. My two year old eats more greens than you.”

Elle punched his shoulder friendly, “You’re the best Kenny.”

Janet, Elle’s friend and fellow waitress, peeped her head into the kitchen and spoke in a heavy Southern accent. “Girl, your admirer is back.”

The tips of ears went bright red. “He’s not my admirer.”

“Oh please,” Janet rolled her eyes in that dramatic way that would look comical on anyone else. “Blue eyes comes in here every Thursday, sits in the same spot in your section, and looks way too interested as your read off the daily pie specials.”

Kenny added, “Plus, he gives you a huge tip and you’re not that good of a waitress.”

“Hey!” Elle hopped off the counter, standing to her full height and feigning indignation. “I am a wonderful waitress. I always refill coffees very promptly and I always cut extra large slices of pie for the kids.”

“You constantly mix up orders and doodle on checks,” Janet pointed out.

“You can all suck it,”Elle announced, waving her middle finger high in the air as she kicked the door open to the dining area. She wasn’t really angry, and even if she denied it, a part of her lit up at their words when she saw him sitting in his usual booth.

She ran a hair through her day-old dark hair, wishing she had taken the time to wash it the night before. Elle had been working in _Sal’s Diner_ for four months before the first day he had walked in. She had been crying when she met him the first time, eyes red rimmed and only more swollen from the frantic sleeves she had wiped them with. He had looked awkward and overwhelmed and entirely incapable of comforting another person, but he stared at her with an unnerving intensity and asked her what was wrong like he actually cared. Elle had collapsed in the seat next to him, not bothering to maintain appearance so late at night, and unloaded all her family drama on this complete stranger. She talked about how her father- her flighty, irresponsible “I’m not ready to be a dad” father- had forgotten her birthday again that year. It had been stupid and childish, but she hated how emotionally invested she still was in someone who had discarded and replaced her without a second thought.

_“I was thirteen the first time I snuck out of the house. I had caught a glimpse of my medical chart at the last doctor’s office and had repeated the address to myself all day until I wrote it down. He had a new house and a new wife and a new daughter with blonde curls just like him. I guess when he said he wasn’t ready to be a dad he just meant he didn’t want to be mine.”_

_The stranger had leaned over the table, stiff and out of place like his hands weren’t used to being empty, and reached out a hand so his fingertips were the barest whisper against her own. His head had tilted to the side, reading her name-tag. “Elle?”_

_“Short for Eloise,” she had mumbled. Once her initial breakdown had passed, Elle just felt deflated and embarrassed. Her face was puffy from crying, crying over her dad for twenty years._

_"Well Eloise,” one side of his mouth quirked up in a crooked smile, “I’m the Danny Torrance of daddy issues. Richard Gecko.”_

Elle stifled her grin when she saw him, looking too tall to be stuffed into the low booth and too formal in his suit. His glasses had slipped down the slope of his nose as he read the menu with a crinkle between his brows like he was reading the _New York Times_ and not _Sal’s_ faded laminate.

“Hi Richie.” Even if she was smiling in that big way of hers that showed too much teeth, Elle tried to pretend like she wasn’t so affected by his presence.

“Hello Eloise.”

Crooked smile and sharp cheekbones. Horn-rimmed glasses that would look ridiculous on anyone else paired with that suit. Her heart lurched at the sight of him.

“Why do you even bother reading the menu?” She didn’t know why she bothered coming over with a notepad. “We both know exactly what you’re going to have.”

“Maybe I want to try something new.” His long fingers fiddled with the straw napkin on the table, not watching as he absentmindedly bent it into a series of squares.

“That’s the problem with ordering. Do you try something new that you might like more or risk not getting something you already like?” Elle inwardly rolled her eyes at herself. _Please, talk more about ordering. Queen of Conversation, Eloise Parks._ She looked down at the chewed up pen in her grip, wishing she could be more interesting.

Richie was looking at her with those deeply blue eyes, amused and serious all at once. “Schrodinger’s cat.”

Her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Richie Gecko, she had learned, had an enormous brain that was only half bound to reality.

“It’s a scientific term, Picasso.” The nickname made her smile, happy he remembered when she talked about being an art major. “It describes that instant before confirmation when both options are reality since neither has been disproven.”

“I’m more of a dog person.”

She’s learned Richie hardly laughs. Instead, his face flashes a rare smile that crinkles his eyes and makes him look like a teenager again. He was smiling like that now, and she wanted to melt.

“Richie?”

“Elle?”

“Why didn’t you go to college? You know you’re smart enough to do anything you want.” She dropped the pad of paper into her pocket, letting the compliment slip from her lips naturally. It was little more than a prop to convince herself she was working.

“You know that saying “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade?’” Her nodded response prompted him to continue. “Life didn’t give me lemons.” His voice was colder than before, slipping into to something untouched and dark and it made Elle realize, for the hundredth time since she’s met him, Richard Gecko has secrets.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out an unlit cigarette and letting it rest between his teeth. For someone who has always hated smoking, Elle was embarrassingly fascinated by the curve of his lips and the sharp lines of his face with a Marlboro dangling from parted lips. Richie’s fingers flicked open the lighter, long-limbed and well practiced, but Elle reached down and plucked the object from his lips carefully.

His eyes drifted up to meet her, a wicked smile and a quirked eyebrow. Riche’s fingers have wrapped themselves around her wrist. They’re ice cold but gentle. If she hadn’t spent years steadying her hands when she was sketching, Elle knew her hand would tremble at their innocuous situation. Something about the man before her is charged in a way ordinary people aren’t. “You know these haven been proven to be just a little bit fatal, right?”

His laugh is an exhalation of warm breath on her fingers. “Death doesn’t really stick with me, Eloise Parks.”

“Good.” With an easy tug, she released her hand from his grip and left to place his usual order-burger, sweet potato fries, and a horchata.

When his food was ready, she placed the plate in front of him. “Bloody, just the way you like it.”

Her knees turned to gelatin at his grin. Richard Gecko was going to be the death of her.


End file.
